


Three

by in48frames



Category: Bomb Girls
Genre: F/F, Gen, Multi, OT3, Vigilante Justice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:31:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in48frames/pseuds/in48frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU in which Betty, Gladys, and Kate watch the streets, doling out justice when needed and keeping their fellow female workers safe. Warnings for non-graphic: violence, abuse, misogyny, homophobia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three

Betty McRae has spent half her life running. Growing up with three brothers bigger and stronger than her, she learned to either hide really well or get one good shot in before she was pummelled to the ground. When she left, she swore she would never go back, but she took her fight to the city with her. On her way out the door she stole a small kitchen knife and one of her father’s handkerchiefs, and to this day they have a devoted pocket in her handbag.

She walks down the street guarded, eyes open and back up, and for the most part she avoids conflict. The one and only time she had to use her knife, she was taking a shortcut through an alley and some drunken layabout wouldn’t take no for an answer. When he got handsy, when his grip was too strong for her to break, she slipped the knife out of her purse and plunged it into his thigh. He shrieked and released her and she used the adrenaline to wrench the knife back out and run like hell.

Without slowing her pace, she used the handkerchief to wipe the blood from the knife and then threw the bloodied scrap of cloth into a dumpster. Back at the rooming house, she strolled in with her hands in her pockets like it was any other night, made a beeline to her room and pushed the door shut with her back. As she washed the blood off her hands in the sink, they shook uncontrollably and she had to brace herself as her knees threatened to buckle.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw the same grown-up ain’t-scared-of-no-thing Betty McRae, but inside she felt like she was ten years old, hiding from her brothers in the loft and crying against her better judgment because she was so scared. She cried herself to sleep that night and in the morning she woke thinking, _The first time’s the worst. Now you’re prepared._

She went to Eaton’s and bought their cheapest pack of men’s handkerchiefs, wrapped her knife back up and put it back in its pocket.

When she meets Gladys Witham, she dismisses her offhand as a weak, pampered, spoiled rich girl. The kind of girl Betty would have to protect, the kind of girl who would force Betty to use her knife when she otherwise could have gotten out of the scrape. She thinks little more of Kate Andrews, a timid mouse of a girl who doesn’t belong out of her father’s house, let alone in a city like Toronto all by herself.

That is until the night when Betty happens to be one of the last to leave the factory, and she finds Gladys and Kate chatting just inside the doors. It’s gotten dark, and Betty peers out the window before saying to the others, “Shall we walk together?” There is, after all, strength in numbers. She doesn’t try any harder to make friends, walking a step behind and kicking at the gravel as Kate and Gladys chatter away, lighthearted.

“Ladies!” comes a shout, and the three turn in unison. It’s Buster; enough said. “Out so late?”

Betty plants her feet, reaches into her bag, and when she glances to the side she sees two mirror images: chin held high, one hand disappearing into her purse, a face defiant and daring. Buster, coward that he is, laughs and calls them prissy broads and walks quickly by.

Slowly, the three women relax, looking around and shaking out their hands. Betty dips her head and smirks to the side, saying, “Who woulda guessed, a coupla girls like you.”

Gladys’s eyebrows go up and she replies, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” and Kate just nods meekly, taking her arm as they turn back to their path.

Betty sticks her hands back in her pockets and kicks at the gravel, walking along behind them. “Nah, of course not,” she says, and then starts to whistle softly.


End file.
